WasteLand: New Hope
by manatopia
Summary: The son of The Lone Wanderer, will he follow in his father's footsteps or find his own destiny.
1. A New Hope

**Hey, I'm back. I am going to take some liberties with this story, weapons, names, and people. Hope yall like it.**

_My name is Marc, Marc Brown. I live in the Capital Wasteland, in the city of Megaton. I don't know why I'm writing this; guess someone needs to know my story, how my world was turned upside down by naïve, innocent, vault girl; where to begin…_

The Wasteland held many dangers, raiders, slavers, and deathclaws; yet what seemed to be more dangerous than anything was destiny. A new wind is blowing and it is blowing towards a certain boy living in the rusted metal hulk of Megaton City.

June 27, 2294 Megaton 9:00 AM

The old Vault-Tec issue mattress creaked and groaned loudly as the body of seventeen Marc Brown shifted in his sleep. He had been hunting with his neighbor Billy Creel and his daughter Maggie till late last night and had just gotten to sleep, his eyes shifting back and forth as he dreamed.

Suddenly he shot up from his bed, his shirt plastered to his chest. He had dreamed of dark men in armor, helms glowing with fire. They had come to Megaton and broken through the gates, the bodies of Billy, Maggie, Simms, and Harden lying dead; but what scared him the most was the body of his mother. He wandered across to the atom bomb and there, nailed upon it, was his mother…Moira Brown.

_Her dark hair, usually tied back in a bun, now hung in her face. She was beaten to death, wrists tied to the bombs frame with barbed wire. Marc stumbled forward, tears streaming down his face, falling down into the muddy, irradiated water. Marc could feel the radiation seep into his skin, causing him to become more nauseous than before; doubling over, he retches his stomach contents into the water. _

_Wiping his mouth, he looks into his mother's eyes; now white and vacant. Crawling forward and reaching out, he touches her leg; mutilated and bloody._

"_Ma…Mom?" Marc asked, tears flowing down his grime-covered cheeks, "what happened?"_

'BANG' BANG' came a loud knocking on Marc's door, startling him and making him fall out of his bed. As he tried to untangle himself from his bed, he heard his mother's voice calling to him.

"Marc…MARC!" shouted Moira from outside his door, "It's time to get up!" she finished as she walked downstairs to the shop. Finally extricating himself from his sheets, Marc stood and walked to his bathroom sink. Turning the rusted handles, cold, mildly radiated water came rushing out; splashing water on his face and chest.

Grumbling to himself, he walked to his drawers, drying his face with a clean towel. Pulling it open he selected a plain white T-shirt, only slightly blood speckled from a previous costumer at the Craterside Supply.

Smirking as he remembered the man, drunk as much as Hell was hot, the man had tried to hold up the store. The drunk had pulled a measly Chinese pistol on his mother; the magazine wasn't even fully in when the man pulled the trigger. The result was explosive to say the least, the top of his cranium was gone, splattered along the wall and Marc's shirt; thankfully on a little bit stained it, Marc liked this shirt.

Pulling it over his head as he opened his door, he walked quickly downstairs. His mom was adding a few adjustments to Marc's Glock .40, a hair trigger and an extended magazine; for a rainy day.

Walking into the main shop area, he sat on a barstool bolted down in front of his mother's workstation. Looking up from her work, Moira greeted her son with her normally crazy smile and grease stains on her cheeks.

"How did you sleep Marc?" she said smiling as she slid the trigger into place, her tongue slightly out.

Shrugging his shoulders he replied, "Eh, could have been better; stayed out to long with Maggie and Mr. Creel last night." Picking at a scrap on rust on the tabletop, he glanced up. "So…you think I could go to Springville today?"

Moira looked up from her son's pistol, the same one left by his father thirteen years prior. He had his eyes, a deep blue, and the kind that you only saw in old Pre-War magazines of oceans. Sighing to herself, she expertly pieced the Glock together, ejecting the magazine after remembering Marc's blunder the first time he held it a month ago.

She looked at Marc, "You…are so much like your father; could never get tied down in one place." Laughing as he shrugged his shoulders, "Yup, you have his mannerisms as well."

Smiling as she flipped the pistol grip forward, offering it toward the teenager; his hand reached forward quickly.

Snatching it back, she laughed loudly; echoing through the shop. "Now remember, safety on at all times when you are in the city walls." Placing it in Marc's hand, she reaches under the counter, pulling the gun safe key from its hiding place.

Pointing to her room, saying "Go pick a rifle, you always want to make sure you have one out in the Wastes." Groaning as he went into the adjoining room.

"I know mom…I'm not a kid anymore." Marc said opening the safe, an old weathered box with scorch marks from his mother's experiments.

Swinging the door open, he let out a low whistle. After years of seeing these weapons, he was still at awe in the sheer amount of firepower. There were rifles and pistols galore, enough to arm the residents of Megaton and then some. He scanned the rifles, going through what his mother had taught him.

"_Alrighty, R91 assault rifle, .32 hunting rifle…no too weak, not enough penetration; ah-ha!"_

A huge grin spreading across his face, Marc pulled out his choice weapon. The 5.56 custom-made Infiltrator as he liked to call it; silencer with a scope mounted on top of the receiver; what made it special was that it was his father's before him. The rifle had a matte-black finish, expertly painted to blend in with the shadows.

Reaching into the shelves above the rifles, Marc pulled free another heirloom from his father. A brown duster, scuffed and patched together bullet-holes adorned the exterior, but on the interior, there were holsters for three medium sized revolvers or automatics.

Standing at 5'11 and weighing about 160 lbs. Marc was a force to be reckoned with...well that's what Uncle Gob said all the time. Slipping the weathered duster on, tying the straps down and slipping a serrated combat knife into his boot and a slightly smaller version into the sleeve of his left arm; he stood back to examine himself.

"Wow, Nova is right." He said thinking back to a conversation with Gob's wife, "I do look like Dad.

Standing tall, twisting and pulling at the jacket; testing his flexibility and movement, his sandy brown hair; normally cut short slipped into his eyes. Brushing it out, he tied a red bandanna around his forehead, effectively holding his rowdy hair in place.

Nodding in approval, he snatched up his rifle, slinging it across his back. He then bent over; sliding his father's Glock in a rapid release thigh holster…on safety of course. Standing up he walked back into the shop and stood before his mother.

"Well, I'm heading out. I'll try to head back around nightfall or I might stay at Silver's old place" explained Marc, shifting from foot to foot. He was nervous, it was only the second time he had been allowed to go by himself outside of the walls of Megaton.

Walking from behind the counter, Moira placed her hands on either side of Marc's shoulders. Looking in his eyes she simply said "Be safe…ok?"

Nodding his head, Marc turned and walked out the door; the last thing Moira saw was his duster billowing out in the morning wind and as the door closed she imagined Marc squaring his shoulders; ready for his first adventure.

"_Hmm, he is just like his father"_ thought Moira as she picked up an old lantern and cracked open its casing. _"Let's hope he won't be as lonely."_

**Well, that's my new story. The Wasteland: New Hope; I hope yall like it. Reviews are like presents, I really want them, even criticism; that's like getting socks. Well I'm going to bed night yall.**


	2. So It Begins

**Well, I'm back, the next installment of New Hope. Hope you enjoy it as much I did bringing it to you. I don't own fallout **

June 27, 2294 Megaton 9:45

The rusted metal plates that made up the walkways and buildings of Megaton creaked as Marc walked down towards Gob's Saloon. Settlers and other residents greeted Marc as he passed them, a kind word and greeting was the most; most knew him because of his father.

Shaking his head as he filed past them, _"Will I only be known for my Father's deeds?" _He wondered, ducking under an overhang with loose electrical wires hanging from it. Stepping closer, he carefully peeled back the loose wires casing, discovering that they had been cut by a blunt knife; the tearing instead of cutting was evidence enough.

Frowning, he examined the wires closer; they had indeed been cut by a blunt knife. _"Hmm, better tell Simms, raiders might be growing a brain." _He laughed at the thought, he remembered Simms and Gob telling him of when a gang of raiders used to attempt to raid Megaton. Simms had said that they never succeeded, only killed a few squatters; but Megaton didn't have enough fighters to take the fight to the raiders.

Tucking the wires back into their conduit box, he turned and walked down the dirt hill, well, it was more like a mud hill. Since his father had brought pure water to the Wasteland; there has been much more rain. Most has been slightly irradiated, but Doc Church had studied it closely and said that with each rain storm, there is less radiation.

The Doc said that in a few months, there would be no traces of radiation remaining; causing new growth to sprout forth much more quickly. Already there was evidence of new life in the once barren Wasteland; Nova had already begun planting a garden with supplies from Dr. Li and selling the vegetables to the traders like Wolfgang, Crow, and Doc Hoff. The traders helped spread seeds and other gardening tools to the other towns, allowing them to grow their own produce.

Arriving at Simms' house, Marc stared at the door, rusted and beaten. Simms had been like a father to him since Marc's dad had disappeared when he was five years old. Fishing in his pocket for the spare key, Marc wondered _"Wonder where he is now, dead in a ditch for all I care…old bastard."_

Finally finding his key, Marc slid it in the keyhole and entered the house. Dropping his bag as he walked into the dining room, he noticed Hardin fiddling with an old hunting rifle his father has had for years. Marc grinned; Hardin was so engrossed in his work that he hadn't even noticed Marc walk in and drop his satchel.

Pulling free his combat knife, he grinned darkly. Crouching slightly, like Simms taught him, he snuck up behind the twenty-two year old boy. Marc was just about to jump Hardin when he felt something cold and hard press against his neck.

"Drop it, kid." echoed a deep voice, gritty and rough from years of living in the Wasteland. Dropping the knife, Marc grinned as he turned around, facing Simms and shrugging his shoulders.

"I could never sneak up on you, could I?" asked Marc as Simms holstered his .44 magnum. Shaking his head, Simms walked over to Hardin; still hunkered down over the rifle.

Slapping the back of Hardin's head, he turned to Marc. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of the visit of Marc Walsh, amateur adventurer and attempted assassin?" said Simms as he pulled a beer and Nuka-Cola from the battered fridge. Tossing the Cola to Marc, Simms popped the bottle cap off and tossed it into a jar full of them.

Turning towards his father, Hardin wiped his hands with an oily rag. Nodding his head towards Marc, he looked at his father.

"Where's mine?" he asked, pointing towards Marc's drink. "I've been working on this rifle all day, I'm thirsty."

Laughing at his son, Simms simply said "Hardin, you almost got your throat slit by a seventeen year old." Looking at Marc, who had a smug grin on his face and was sipping on the flat Pre-War soda. "I don't think you deserve one, seeing as you should be dead. Besides, it's time for your patrol around town." He said, unpinning his badge and tossing it on the table.

Sighing as he snapped off his desk lamp, Hardin stood, picking up the weathered gold star. Walking towards the cabinet next to the door, he reached in and pulled an old, battered, double-barrel shotgun free from its casing.

As he slung the shotgun, he turned towards Marc. "Next time you come by I'll be ready for you, so you'd better be ready for me." He said pinning the badge to his shirt and filling his pockets with spare shells. He nodded towards his father as he walked out of the house; his boots echoing against the rusted metal that made up the walkways.

As the door closed, Simms leaned forward in his chair and taking a sip from his beer. "Marc, I know this isn't a social visit." He said, setting his drink on the table in front of him.

Sighing and draining the last of the cola in one gulp, Marc tossed the now empty bottle in the wastebasket adjacent to his chair. Marc tossed the bottle cap in the air, catching it and examining it closely. His eyes scanned over the dirty cap, its color faded and chipped away after two hundred years.

"Well, it seems we have a problem." He said, putting the bottle cap in his duster pocket. "As I was walking to the main gate, I noticed some wiring was loose from its casing."

Simms leaned forward, his chair creaking slightly. "Marc, what was wrong with the wires?" he said placing his hand on the table. "I need to know what was wrong, what exactly was wrong." He exclaimed.

Stunned by the urgency in his voice, Marc stumbled over his words. "I…I noticed that they were cut by a blunt knife." he stammered, trying to regain his breath. "I think someone, raiders probably, are going to try to take Megaton."

Lucas leaned back, his chair creaking again."Marc, I don't need you tell anyone about this." He said standing up. "I just need you to go about your day as normal, but I need a scout to recon the area outside Megaton." Simms walked towards his bookcase, stating instructions all the way.

He picked up a revolver, placed there earlier. He flicked the loader open, quickly loading it with .357 rounds from his belt. Finishing, he holstered it and pulled his leather jacket from the coat stand next to him.

"I'm going to inform Stockholm of your findings, perhaps we'll find the culprits." He said as he walked from his house; the door swinging shut behind him.

Sighing to himself, Marc picked his satchel up, swinging it on his back. He too opened the door and stepped out from the house. Tightening the straps, Marc started forward towards the gates.

The gate of Megaton echoed across the Wastes, Marc looked over his shoulder. The deputy robot was still standing vigil as always, its programming had and never will change. Looking out into the open land, he started forward, pulling his sunglasses onto his face.

"_Well, maybe I can find something worthwhile out in this land." _

The alarms blared as Lucie Almodovar ran down the corridors, red lights flashing wildly as smoke poured from the vents. She ran faster, sweat pouring down her face, stinging her eyes; Lucie rounded the corner. Her lungs burned as the smoke filled her mouth; she stumbled into the medical bay.

"Mother!" she screamed, falling to the floor as Overseer Almodovar twisted around from the gurney in front of her. The body, a resident of the vault, convulsed one last time. Amata ran to Lucie, pulling her onto her shoulder.

"Lucie!" screamed Amata as they stumbled towards Vault 101's exit. "We need to get to the emergency tunnel, only then will we be safe." She pulled a rebreather onto her face, assisting Lucie with hers.

They stumbled through the hallways, lights flashing and the alarms only getting louder as they neared the exit. Amata rounded the corner first, looking over her shoulder at Lucie as she entered the Vault door control room. Lucie pulled a 10mm SMG free from the bloody hands of a vault guard, killed in the earlier attack.

Turning towards the hallway they had just run down, she fires a burst at the shadows following them. The figures slammed against the bulkheads, seeking cover where none existed. They returned fire, red lasers and globs of burning green plasma burned the metal around her; burning her right arm.

"Mother, anytime now!" she yelled as she fired another burst down the corridor. Just as she said the words the large metal door groaned open, dirt and grime falling from its ancient cogs. Lucie grinned as the opening grew larger, firing another burst; she sprinted towards the opening. Clearing the area outside, she waved her mother forward.

Grinning again, she shouted to her mother "Come on, we're almost there."

Yet, the words came too soon. One distinct laser blast sounded out above the rest. Lucie's eyes widened as Amata's mouth hung open; a trickle of blood seeping from her mouth, she stumbled forward. Lucie ran forward, only to be driven back by red blasts of burning fire.

"Mother!" she screamed, her voice shrill. Amata crawled towards the vault door, blood trickling between her fingers, lying against the cold and unforgiving metal.

"Lucie…run." She whispered, blood freely flowing from her mouth. "You have…to leave me." She said as she pulled a black device from her breast pocket. Lucie stared at her mother, tears flowing free and mouth open in a silent scream.

"GO NOW!" Amata screamed, pulling her pistol free and firing towards the shadows. Lucie turned and ran from the doorway, stumbling over rocks and rubble strewn across the tunnel. As she reached the ancient door, she stole one last look towards her mother and stepped through the doorway into the Wastes.

Amata looked towards her daughter, sighing as she felt her blood seeping from her veins. Her smile, growing as the door closes. _"Good girl, time for you to grow up."_ Looking down at her palm, she caressed the deadly object, the detonator waiting to be used. Smiling as she pressed the trigger, only one thought passed through her mind.

"_Where are you Kyle Walsh?" _her thumb dropping off the trigger, the signal sent to blocks of C4 placed throughout the Vault. That signal bounced from block to block and activated their explosive power. The blast echoed through the vault, fire burning the still bodies of the residents and attacker alike. The shadows ran toward the entrance, the fire engulfing them, their screams falling on deaf ears.

The fire rushed forth, drawing Amata's eyes. _"Goodbye Lucie…goodbye Kyle."_ She thought as the fires engulfed her body, giving her the only honorable death she deserved.

**Well, what did yall think? Epic enough death for Amata…doesn't deserve it if ya ask me. For the love of all that is holy, review! I'm dying here people.**


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